


A Form of Certainty

by 50mg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fannibal Secret Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50mg/pseuds/50mg
Summary: It wasn't a fall, not really. It was a leap from one life to another, the beginning of a new chapter, the birth of Will-and-Hannibal. So they go to Alaska to relearn themselves and each other and life.-My part of the Fannibal Secret Exchange on tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hyperfashionist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hyperfashionist).



Will has no time to debate whether or not he should keep hold of Hannibal, whether or not he even wants to; his base instinct has taken over and there is only desperate kicking to keep afloat, to try to move towards the rocky shoreline in the distance. The waves are rough at the base of the cliff and it's doubly hard to swim with Hannibal limp in his arms. It's impossible to tell how long they're in the water, but eventually Will stumbles from the waves, dragging Hannibal up the beach. Ten feet away from the sea the rocky slope defeats Will and he sinks down, panting heavily, the roar of the pounding waves dulled by his exhaustion. Will leans back, unable to keep himself sitting straight. It seems unseasonably warm, and somewhere in his wandering thoughts is the vague idea that that's a dangerous sign, but he can't find it in him to struggle up. Will's gaze slides over Hannibal's prone form, then up to the sky. The stars grow dim and as Will passes out the only thing he hears is the sound of his own breathing. 

=

Will wakes with a terrible headache that's only made worse by a faint, constant rocking. His room is barely wide enough to hold the tiny mattress he's laid out on. Groaning, Will sits with difficulty. There is a small mirror on the wall, and he sees that someone has stitched him up, albeit in an amateur fashion. The door is unlocked and opens up to the main body of what is obviously a ship. Clinging to the wall for help, Will limps out to see Chiyoh bent over the galley table. It's been converted to a makeshift bed and Hannibal lays on top of it, barely conscious. 

Neither of them look at Will, and once he moves further into the room he sees why- Hannibal is whispering out careful instructions to Chiyoh as she slowly sews him up. Will leans heavily on the tiny kitchen counter to watch. Though it's clear that Chiyoh's first aid knowledge is limited, she is surprisingly well-prepared: an IV bag is hanging from a wall hook, supplying Hannibal with what must be painkillers, from how his words slur, and the tools look professional. Some time later Hannibal's wound is finally closed, and as Chiyoh steps back Hannibal finally turns to look at Will. 

Chiyoh ignores Will completely as he slides onto the built in seats near Hannibal's head. As she moves around the cabin, throwing bloodied gauze into a bag and packing up, Will speaks to Hannibal. 

"Are you going to be alright?"

"This is a temporary measure until I can get proper medical attention. You'll need better stitches, too," Hannibal replies slowly, his eyes slightly unfocused. They sit in silence for a moment before Hannibal seems to remember that he hasn't answered Will's question. "Yes, I'll be fine. So will you."

Will leans his chin on his hand, careful to avoid his cut, gazing sightlessly at the wall. 

"Does that bother you?" Hannibal asks. Will looks at him. 

"...I don't know."

They don't say anything after that. Hannibal adjusts his head, trying to get comfortable on the hard tabletop, and when his eyes finally close Will rests his head on his arms and falls asleep with him. 

=

Chiyoh is largely a silent presence, though she does give Will some medication with strict instructions. She spends most of her time out of the cabin, directing the boat to an unknown location. Will is too tired to go above deck and opts to spend his time in bed reading. There are a few books on the boat, though none of them are particularly interesting. 

The first night Hannibal spends on the table, but with Chiyoh's help he moves into Will's cabin- or, rather, the only cabin. Will is not entirely sure where Chiyoh sleeps, but he debates taking over the table before deciding that he doesn't care about sharing a bed with Hannibal, small as it may be. 

In the end it is entirely uneventful. Hannibal spends nearly all his time asleep, and his few waking hours do not usually overlap Will's moments of consciousness. 

Five days after the fall, Chiyoh docks the boat and Will leaves the cabin at last to find a private dock on a beautiful but isolated spit of land. In the distance is a house, barely noticeable through the trees. Standing at the dock's beginning is a small outbuilding, which Chiyoh unlocks to reveal an ATV. She fishes a key ring out of her pocket, gets on, and leaves Will on the dock without saying a word. Will lingers awkwardly, unsure if he's just been abandoned, but ten minutes later Chiyoh returns driving a jeep down the beaten path to the dock. 

Together they help Hannibal off the boat and into the car, where he leans heavily against the window. It's strange for Will to see Hannibal in such a vulnerable state, and he feels uncomfortable looking. Will steadfastly gazes out the window all the way up to the house, shoulder aching from Hannibal's weight. Chiyoh vanishes inside, leaving Will to sling an arm around Hannibal and half-drag him in. Will's own weakness makes it a rough trip, though Hannibal doesn't complain. Mercifully, the first room to the right is a sparsely decorated living room and Will is able to maneuver Hannibal onto the couch with minimal jostling. 

Dust covers every surface and Hannibal sneezes at the puff he expelled from the couch. Will opts to wander around the room, running his hands along the wood paneling. The house isn't Hannibal's taste at all, more of an old hunting cabin than anything, and that makes Will wonder who it really belongs to. As he turns to ask, Chiyoh walks in carrying a large briefcase. 

She sets it down on the coffee table in front of Hannibal's couch and motions Will over, opening the case and tilting it in his direction. "These are your passports. Three different identities each, with currency from eight different countries. Should you require it, there are the final steps for visas to Russia and Argentina, which you can finish at any time, thanks to one of Hannibal's many friends. Hannibal can fill you in on the details later."

Will moves to ask a question, but Chiyoh holds up a finger for silence. She shuffles through the fake IDs and money stacks to the bottom, which contains several maps. 

"I've marked the locations of several doctors that can be trusted to hold their silence. This one," she says, whipping out the bottom map," contains several safe house locations within a reasonable distance. This cabin is safe for now, as the owners only come in summer, but you must take care to erase all evidence of your being here. I suggest you leave tomorrow for medical help and then move on."

"I take it you're leaving us?" Will asks, noting the lack of identification for Chiyoh. She nods coolly. 

"This is the last you'll see of me," Chiyoh replies. Though she looks at Will, it's obviously addressed to Hannibal, who looks faintly proud at the declaration. "I'm leaving tonight. I'll take the boat and make sure it can't be traced here or to you. You're on your own now."

Chiyoh closes the briefcase and stands up gracefully, stalking towards the front door, where a large duffel bag rests alongside her signature rifle. Hannibal twists with effort to watch her go. Hefting both bag and gun over her shoulder, Chiyoh walks out into the twilight. She doesn't look back, and Hannibal doesn't say anything to catch her attention. 

Though Chiyoh had, in a way, been Hannibal's prisoner and plaything for much longer than Will, it seems that that hasn't dulled her spirit, and Will is jealous of how effortlessly she slips off. It may be the best escape anyone has ever made from Hannibal Lecter. (Something tells Will that Bedelia has not extricated herself half as neatly as she believes herself to have, and so doesn't count.)

Some minutes later Will sees the faintest gleam of light through the trees, the only sign of the boat, and then Chiyoh is gone. 

Will stares out at the little bit of ocean he can see in the fading light until he starts feeling slightly woozy, still completely exhausted from the fight with the Dragon. Will shuffles over to the couch and gently lowers himself down to Hannibal's side. 

Hannibal droops on the couch, looking more disheveled and spent than ever. He glances at Will from the corner of his eye, apparently not possessing the energy to turn his head. 

"So, now we're alone together and I'm entirely at your mercy. Do you plan to finish what you started?" Hannibal asks. His tone is mild and conversational, as though he were talking about the weather instead of a murder-suicide attempt. Will flops his head on the back of the couch, gazing tiredly at Hannibal. 

He picks at the fibers on his pants, still stained with the Dragon's blood. "Dunno. I- haven't really thought about any of it since Chiyoh grabbed us. I've spent the last few days in a blank haze." Will pauses, then chuckles darkly. "Hiding from my newly awakened thoughts in the mist of my injuries."

"'Newly awakened?' I'd hoped to break you out of denial, but it looks as though some habits die hard."

Will flushes. "I've already had one life-changing revelation this week, thank you. Can you at least pretend to stay out of my head until I've had some time to adjust?"

"You've had many years for that, Will." Despite his words, Hannibal's gaze is patient, not reproachful. "Really, you've known... All along..."

Hannibal starts slurring, his gaze drifting. Will sits up too fast and winces before giving Hannibal a once-over. "I think it's time to get you in a bed. Come on."

Hannibal grunts as Will attempts to pull him up. Eventually, they're forced to give up, as they can barely stand on their own, and so Will decides that Hannibal will spend the night on the couch. There are throw pillows and an extra blanket in a hall closet and Will does his best to make Hannibal comfortable after doling out their respective medications. There's just the one couch in the living room and Will hesitates, looking between Hannibal and the bedroom door down the hall. 

Eventually comfort wins out over proximity, and he heads to the bedroom, though Will makes sure to leave the door open, just in case. He's too tired to strip out of his clothes and simply collapses on the bed, face-down. He hears Hannibal shuffle once and then sleep overtakes him. 

=

"And you're sure we can trust this man?" Will asks, peering suspiciously over the steering wheel at the house before them. They'd driven for two days to reach the home of one of the doctors Chiyoh recommended, and Will is unsure of this plan. However, Hannibal's condition has forced him to admit that they need a proper medical evaluation. 

"He won't give us away, even though he moved countries to avoid me. I have some evidence of his past misdeeds."

Will turns to stare at Hannibal. "What on earth could he have done that compels him to help a cannibalistic serial killer so he can keep things hidden?" 

Hannibal just flashes Will his Mona Lisa smile before turning his attention back to the house. "I think it would be best if we met him inside his home."

"I know how to cut a phone line if you want a full ambush," Will says. Hannibal practically beams at him. This has happened a lot over the last couple days, and it unnerves Will- although not in an entirely unpleasant way. He isn't sure if it's the drugs that are making Hannibal more open with him or Will's cliffside confession. Either way, the veil has been lifted. This train of thought is interrupted when Hannibal motions at an access road. 

"We can park there and walk to the house. We won't be as obvious then."

"It's 80 yards from the house. I'm not sure if we can make it," Will says, doubtful. Despite this, he turns down the little road and parks anyway. They unbuckle and Will helps Hannibal out of the car. It's slow going to the house thanks to Will's shoulder, but they make it without being spotted, mostly due to the large, wooded lots in the neighborhood. Hannibal has to take a breather on a deck chair as Will picks the lock on the back door. Once it's open, Will heaves Hannibal up again and they enter. 

Sweating, Will helps Hannibal to the stairs and sinks down next to him, arm still around Hannibal's waist. 

"So," Will says, still slightly out of breath, "who is this man?"

"A former patient of mine. He was inspired by me to go back to school for a degree in medicine. I knew all of his professors from when I worked in surgery, so I know he's capable."

"What was he seeing you for?" Will asks, curious. Hannibal tsks at him. 

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Will."

"Doctor-patient- are you serious?" Will replies, flabbergasted. "Forgive me for asking if the man we're surprising is dangerous. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Because you were a beacon of ethics as a psychiatrist, of course."

Hannibal arches a brow at him. "He's no danger to us."

"And to others?" 

"He's only killed once. He's more of a danger to himself, really, and he's on medication now," Hannibal replies. 

"Did you have anything to do with the murder?" Will asks. Ludicrously, he feels jealous. It's the same ugly feeling he got when Bedelia revealed exactly how and why she killed her patient. Considering Will is still struggling with his darker impulses, it's ridiculous for him to feel this way. 

"I believe he wouldn't have personally taken part in it without my guidance, no. But he would have allowed it to happen, and perhaps even watched."

Will harrumphs and looks down at his hand, resting on his lap. He studies his flexing fingers to give himself time to think. Hannibal surprises him by sneaking a hand onto Will's own. Will looks up to find Hannibal gazing intensely at him. 

"It's true that I've helped many of my patients with certain desires, but I have to say that none of them compare to you."

Hannibal traces circles on the back of Will's hand with his thumb, and they're still sitting quietly next to one another when Benjamin Raspail comes home to the shock of his life. 

=

Will hovers over Raspail throughout Hannibal's exam. Raspail is immediately loathsome to Will, and he tells himself it's because the man is a murderer. It doesn't work, and so Will is left to stew as Raspail's hands skirt carefully over Hannibal, gently probing. Hannibal hisses as Raspail examines his stomach, and Will responds by glowering at Raspail, who flinches, thoroughly cowed. Hannibal looks as delighted as one can under the influence of opiates. 

When it comes time for Will's exam, Raspail seems even more reluctant than when it was Hannibal's turn. Fortunately for Raspail's nerves, it doesn't take long, and Will is given instructions on what kind of shoulder exercises to do as he heals. 

Raspail deflates when he realizes they have no intention of leaving that night, but he has the sense to usher them into the ground floor guest room without comment. Once Hannibal is situated on the bed, Will leans over him with purpose. 

"How many others are there? How many more Will Grahams and Benjamin Raspails are there?" He hisses, looming over Hannibal. Hannibal blinks up at him before smiling. 

"There's only one Will Graham. As for the Benjamin Raspails of the world, you don't need to worry. They're meaningless," Hannibal murmurs. Will leans back, unconvinced. He crawls onto the bed, on top of the covers, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed. He taps his fingers for a moment before speaking. 

"Where are we going after this?"

Hannibal follows the abrupt change of subject without missing a beat. "Alaska. The FBI only ever managed to discover a fraction of my assets, and I have a secure island in the southeast."

"You have an entire island?" Will asks, startled. Using a whole island as a getaway is grandiose and unnecessary and entirely Hannibal. 

"I’m the only occupant, yes. We can stay there for a while to recuperate before moving on."

"Do you have any ideas of what to do once we're better? Because I do," Will says. Hannibal gestures at him to go on. "Once we're able to move, I want a list of all your- your pupils, murder students, whatever you called them."

"I called them patients, Will," Hannibal replies, calm. He brushes an imaginary speck from his shirt before looking back up to Will. "Why should I let you kill them?"

"Isn't that what you wanted from me? For me to acknowledge what I am? Well, I'll tell you what I am," Will rants, waving his left hand around. 

"You're jealous," Hannibal interrupts. Will is so startled by the rudeness that he freezes. Hannibal is looking at him fondly, though, which makes his anger fade. "You needn't be."

Will opens his mouth to argue, but Hannibal holds up a hand. "Please. I was going to say that if it means so much to you, I'll gladly give you their names. I'll even help you find them. And I want to watch."

"The catch being...?"

"No catch," Hannibal replies. "Just a request: that you stop hiding from your true self. You are a jealous and wrathful and gloriously possessive man, and that makes you perfect to me. Please don't try to hide it."

Will is at a loss for words and he ends up staring at Hannibal for a solid minute. Finally, his gaze breaks away and he can only stare at his lap. 

"...I know. I know what I am. Why do you think I threw us off that cliff?" Will asks, letting out a choked-off laugh. He rubs his eyes hard, shaking his head. "It's because we deserved it. I deserved it. Who the hell am I to judge people?"

Hannibal looks on in silence, waiting for Will's outburst to end. When Will collapses back against the headboard, finished, he speaks. "You have every right. Your morals are different from society's; so are mine. Humanity has allowed the most heinous crimes to go unpunished for centuries. Things that our forefathers would consider commonplace are taboo today. Standards shift every day to new places, and each decade looks back on the last in horror. In such an uncertain world, isn't the greatest act someone can accomplish staying true to their personal code of honor? Be true to yourself, Will, and be true to me."

Will avoids Hannibal's gaze, frightened of the depth of emotion he knows he'd see in Hannibal's eyes. He lets out a long sigh, running his hands up and down his legs before letting them fall to the bed. 

After a long silence Will murmurs. "We should get some sleep."

Hannibal reaches out to squeeze his hand, then rolls laboriously to turn off his bedside lamp. Will takes off his pants and slides under the cover, mulling over the conversation. Hannibal's warmth is comforting, and it takes little time for Will to fall asleep. 

=

"I still don't trust him," Will growls, looking at Raspail through the rearview mirror. The man had watched them shuffle to their car from his back deck, and though he had made no indication that he would blab immediately, Will felt he was too cowardly to keep quiet. 

"We'll have to come back for him," Hannibal says, leaning back in his seat, eyes closed. Will glances over at him. 

"You mean it?" he asks. They had spent two days with Raspail, and after their intense talk the first night all other conversation was kept to neutral topics. Will knows that Hannibal is giving him time to process, which he appreciates, but he misses the intense emotion Hannibal showed for him. Not that it's truly gone away, but there haven't been any more open displays, unless one counted a few subtle touches now and again. 

Subtle for Hannibal, anyway. But it feels like the most natural thing in the world, so Will doesn't comment on it. 

Their course is due west across Canada and then south, where Hannibal has yet another boat waiting for them. Will is beginning to suspect that Hannibal has a boat in every port in North America, a suspicion that was not allayed when Hannibal's only answer to his queries was yet another mysterious half-smile. 

The first order of business is disguise. They pull over at the first grocery store they see and buy hair dye, a pair of eyeglasses for Hannibal, and large, ugly hats. At a gas station thirty miles away Will goes grey and Hannibal becomes a redhead, something that is endlessly amusing to Will. Hannibal, good at everything as usual, does an excellent job on Will, who now looks like a silver fox, and, more importantly, a much older man than the Will Graham in the papers. Hannibal, having allowed Will to dye his hair, simply looks horrible. It turns out that Hannibal is also surprisingly good with makeup, and each morning he applies enough powder to change the landscape of their faces. 

Canada is a long, slow drive, painful in some parts for Hannibal, as they take back roads whenever possible for safety. Will's years as a cop are doing them a lot of good, as he's able to steal new cars and safely dispose of the old ones in disreputable parts of town. They make it to an little town in British Columbia without incident, where Hannibal declares that he won't be suffering Will's terrible dye job any longer. Although Will protests, fearing Hannibal will be recognized, a beard and the makeup are apparently enough to keep any Canadians from recognizing them, and they make it to Vancouver, where Hannibal's boat awaits them. 

Their wounds are healing well, and with Hannibal's usual preparedness they're able to set sail three days after entering the town, Will having healed well enough to sail. The boat is state of the art, so there isn't much work to strain his shoulder, anyway. With Hannibal ensconced below, this time in a much nicer cabin, they set off for the Alaska panhandle. 

=

The trip up to Hannibal's private island was, thankfully, easy, and settling in to the beautiful log cabin didn't take long. Situated about a mile away from the shore on a steep hill, the house peeked out through the trees just enough to have a clear view of the ocean. An ATV at the base of the hill made transporting Hannibal and their supplies a quick task, and soon Hannibal is sitting at the kitchen's breakfast bar, watching Will wrestle one-handed with the can opener before taking pity on him and opening it. 

Will pours the beans into a pot and turns on the stove, thankful to have something to concentrate on, because he suspects that Hannibal will use the time spent here to talk about their feelings. Will had spent most of the trip up skulking at the helm, and so avoided any deep conversations. It's not that Will doesn't want to talk to Hannibal; he simply doesn't know how to proceed after their 'miraculous' survival. 

Will figures that topic will come sooner rather than later, and is proven right when Hannibal leans forward. 

"Have you given any thought to what we talked about at Raspail's?" Hannibal asks, watching Will cook. 

Will stirs the beans awkwardly with his left hand for a moment before responding. "What do you see for the future?"

"Us, together. I don't regret the years I spent at the BSHCI, but I now know that I can't bear for us to be apart like that."

"...I feel the same way. At least, I know I wouldn't let you leave." At this, Will turns to face Hannibal. "If you left I think I'd kill you."

"You've already tried once." Hannibal chuckles, smiling fondly at Will. His expression becomes contemplative. "I suppose the real question is whether or not you can live with yourself."

Will looks down. "I've thought a lot about what you said. Everything seemed so much simpler when I was out on the water, away from people. I think that's it, really. When I'm around people, I'm reminded of what I'm supposed to be. But out here, with you, I'm reminded of what I can be, or- what I am.

"I jumped off that cliff because I acknowledged what I really am for the first time, and that is... Dark. So utterly different from the people around me. I jumped because of what I would do if I didn't, because I knew that what I'd do went against everything I've been taught my whole life," Will finishes, gazing steadily at Hannibal. 

"What you would do is exactly what Jack Crawford had you doing- you'd just be taking on the extra mantle of executioner. You have an uncompromising sense of ethics, Will. You would do what is right to you: hunting down those who break the law. What difference does it matter if it's your law or a country's law that they break?" Hannibal asks. 

"And if I've broken my own law? What then? You've got to admit that using my own morals puts me in a catch-22; I've killed evil men, men who hurt people and killed others, but I enjoyed killing those men. Yes, they deserved to die, but doesn't my delight at the bloodshed make me just as bad? I know that, if left unchecked, I'll kill again. My victims being deserving of it doesn't entirely wash away my own crimes," Will replies. Though the words are strong, there is little strength to them- Hannibal's steadfast conviction in their right to act has been on Will's mind ever since they talked at Raspail's, and his feelings have been muddled since then. 

If Will was honest with himself, his resistance was, at this point, little more than a token effort, one last grab at normalcy. He still doesn't know where he stands on the matter, or if he'll ever kill without guilt, but he's sure that he will kill again. Especially now that Hannibal appears just as reluctant to part ways. 

"Why should it be wrong for you to enjoy it? Righteous fury like yours has only one logical conclusion, which is punishment. All I ask," Hannibal says, catching Will's hand in his, "is that you trust in your instincts. Block out the naysayers and allow yourself to exist as you are meant to."

"I don't know that I can. I really don't. But..." Will murmurs, not letting go, "I'll try. I promise."

=

Alaska is beautiful and tales of bountiful catches make the ocean tempting. Will takes the boat out for deep-sea fishing, which doesn't work at all with only one good shoulder. The sloppy wound is aggravated at Will's failed attempt to catch a halibut, and so Hannibal puts a moratorium on fishing. On the other hand, Hannibal's stomach is healing up surprisingly well, given that the Dragon had meant the shot to slow him down for the kill. 

The number of bears on the island precludes exploration, seeing as their injuries have dulled their reflexes. However, between getting the cabin cleaned and organized (while injured, no less) and the sheer amount of books Hannibal had managed to get on the island means that there's plenty to do. 

Within the first week a routine is established: Hannibal wakes first and early, and has a light snack while he waits for Will to get up, which usually happens around 9 o'clock. They eat a breakfast Hannibal has prepared and then they split up to pursue their own interests until Hannibal serves lunch at one, usually whatever is left over from dinner the night before. Since they're both still recuperating from the fight and the strain of their escape, they each nap, Hannibal longer than Will, and Will watches Hannibal make dinner in the evening. After dinner, they read together by the fire, and then they retire to their respective rooms around 10 o'clock. 

Will is sure that Hannibal doesn't fall asleep until much later, but he doesn't find out what it is that Hannibal does at night until they've been on the island almost three weeks. He wakes early one morning, almost as early as Hannibal, and when he walks out into the main living area he finds Hannibal sitting at the table bent over some papers. Curious, Will sidles up behind him. 

"Planning another road trip?" He asks, noting the maps. Then Will takes a closer look, seeing Benjamin Raspail's face partially covered by a notebook. "What is this?"

"I'm compiling a list of my former patients' current locations. That's a list of all their vacation homes and getaways I know of, and here's my rough plan for when we can visit them," Hannibal replies, pointing out each in turn. "Obviously I didn't take a special interests in all of my patients, but here are the ones that I- how did you put it? Tutored, if you will."

Will pokes through the mass of notes. "Randall Tier, Margot Verger, Benjamin Raspail... What's this asterisk by Raspail's name?"

"An ex-lover of his. I never had him as a patient, but Raspail told me quite a few interesting things. I would love to have met him."

"Mm," Will grunts. He's only half-listening, too focused on memorizing the names of those that came before him. There are several photos, so Will spends the next few minutes looking at the people in them. "There aren't nearly as many as I thought there would be. Eight is a lot, just thinking about it, but somehow I thought there would be dozens."

"There aren't many interesting people in the world. It's why I choose my companions with great care," Hannibal replies, leaning back in his chair. He presses a hand lightly to his side. 

Will sees that and straightens, motioning to Hannibal's stomach. "All right? Do you need to lay down?"

Hannibal waves him aside, pointing back at the papers. "I'm fine, just a bit sore from sitting hunched over. Do you have anyone you'd like to start with?"

"I'm not interested in killing Margot Verger," Will says. "I think her actions were justified."

Hannibal is noticeably silent. 

"What?"

"I've promised to call on her wife," Hannibal says at last. "I've no particular desire to take her life, but Alana's..."

"Oh." Will can't think of anything to say. Hearing Alana's name is strange, and the thought of Hannibal killing her even more so. Hannibal doesn't say more, and so they are unmoving and silent for the next few minutes. 

Eventually Will mentally shakes himself and starts going through the papers again. Once finished, Will pulls out the chair next to Hannibal and sits, lacing his fingers together. 

"I want to start with Bedelia," he says, waiting for Hannibal's reaction. The man doesn't even twitch at Will's statement.

"She wasn't a student of mine," Hannibal says. 

"Maybe not, but she was a lover... Even if she was only a stand-in for me."

Hannibal has enough self control to restrict his show of surprise to blinking, but Will can tell he's been caught off-guard. Admittedly, it's easy to see why- they haven't spoken candidly about the subject, and while there had been short moments of physical intimacy, they haven't gone further than small, lingering touches. 

Hannibal tilts his head, still looking at Will. "Like my so-called students, you don't need to be jealous of her."

"Need or not," Will says coldly, "I want to make it abundantly clear to her that she has no claim to you. When I went to see her, her arrogance rolled off in waves, and she took every chance to rub it in my face."

Will reaches to Hannibal's face, cupping it and holding it in a hard grip. "I want her dead, Hannibal. I'm going to kill her."

Hannibal swallows, pupils dilating slightly. "I have no intention of stopping you. I want to watch."

"Good. I want you to. I don't care that I don't need to be jealous. I am. I'll kill her, and if anyone else touches you I'll kill them too. That's one thing I'll never feel guilty about, because you," Will declares, fingers tightening painfully on Hannibal's face, "Are mine."

"I won't ask about your wife and-" Hannibal starts. Will shushes him before standing.

Feeling bold, Will shoves Hannibal's chair back from the table and pushes his way between Hannibal's legs. 

"No, you won't," Will growls. "They're off-limits. I'm never going to see them again and that will be enough for you, understand?"

Hannibal nods breathlessly as Will's hand drags up his chest. Will isn't sure how long they stare at one another before he has a fistful of Hannibal's hair and is pulling Hannibal's face to angle in for a kiss, and then when it happens it's perfect. 

There's no teeth or tongue, just a soft press of lips, but it leaves Will's pulse racing as though he'd just run a marathon. He leans back and enjoys watching the muted series of emotions that run across Hannibal's face. 

"Now, here's what we're going to do. The two of us are in no condition to go after anyone. We'll wait until we regain our strength, however long that takes us, and then we go after Bedelia. I don't care how long it takes us, but I'll kill her before anyone else. After that we'll see. I still don't know how I'll feel down the road, but I'll be damned if I don't try to live with this," Will says, tapping at his chest. "I won't make any more promises after that. Deal?"

Hannibal is looking up at him adoringly. "I thought that the sight of you covered in the Dragon's blood would be my favorite image of you, but I have to say that you've outdone yourself in this moment. Do you know, I think I'd give you anything you asked for right now."

"Don't tempt me," Will snorts, pulling away. He heads for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. "Come on, there'll be plenty of time for this later. Make some of that dried fish for breakfast?"

Hannibal, eager as ever, follows. 

=

Recovery is slow. While Will focuses on regaining full range of motion and power in his arm, Hannibal's injuries require time most of all, and he's often forced to spend long hours in bed. This leaves him restless, but with the supply of books exhausted there isn't much to while away the time except talk to Will. 

At first, Will half-expected their conversations to revolve entirely around psychology and murder, but he is surprised at the breadth of their topics; they range from Will's empathy to Hannibal's love of cooking to literature (and their current lack thereof) to a particularly beautiful sunset one day to, yes, murder, and all the while they fascinate each other with their responses. Though they had seen and understood one another before, the veil still separated them, but now they have nothing to hide from one another and they drink up each other's honesty. 

Though they do touch on occasion, it's nearly always accidental or for a utilitarian purpose, such as when Hannibal showed Will the proper way to hold a vegetable to cut it, or when Will helped Hannibal with his stitches. They've only kissed two more times, each restrained and gentle in its own way. Will is content to let this strange new aspect of their relationship progress slowly (it's almost achingly slow, and the warm, building anticipation of it is half the reason he keeps it this way), and so they stick to showing their affection through lingering smiles and fond glances. 

Then, one night nearly two months in, after they've both retired, Hannibal is rolling slowly in his sheets as he stares at the ceiling. Suddenly, Will opens his door and crawls onto the bed. 

"I have no idea why I was still sleeping in that room," he says, pulling at Hannibal's blankets. "Move over."

Hannibal shuffles obligingly to one side of the bed. Once Will is settled with his back turned, Hannibal eases over and slides an arm to cross in front of Will's chest, testing the waters. When Will doesn't move, Hannibal presses himself against Will's back and closes his eyes. After a few minutes of silence Will speaks. 

"I'll sweat on you," he warns. "And I'll probably steal all the covers."

Hannibal smiles, cracking an eye open. "I've been told I cling too hard in my sleep."

Will twists in Hannibal's arms to look him in the eye before snorting. "I guess that makes us perfect bedfellows, then," he says, rolling back over. 

From that point on they share a bed.

=

Though their internet connection is appalling, Hannibal is patient enough to let Tattlecrime and the FBI website load, and both provide relief: Freddie tells a sordid tale of blood-splattered lovers meeting a grisly, fitting end, while the FBI has marked them as missing but presumed dead. 

"Apparently six months without any sightings is enough to make them forget," Will muses. He's sitting at the kitchen table with Hannibal, with all the information on the former "students" spread out on it. "I mean, the fall was risky, but still. That's just negligent, given your history."

"It's a good thing. We may not be able to leave the island yet, but it's nice to have the option if we need it," Hannibal replies. Will glances at the man's stomach as he says it- Hannibal still hasn't fully recovered, and requires either a cane or Will to get around comfortably.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Will is going over the information for what seems like the thousandth time, and the thought of looking over it for the next few hours is excruciating. “Hey, I think I’m gonna take the boat out, see what I can catch.”

“If you catch something before six bring it home and I’ll make dinner,” Hannibal says, still engrossed in the tablet. 

Will rolls his eyes good naturedly at Hannibal’s tabloid obsession and gets his things together. Most of his fishing gear is already on the boat, but he still needs to bring a firearm for safety- it seems as though there’s a bear around every corner on the island, and they attack at random, so a gun is a must when leaving the house. Ready, Will sets out on the ATV down the path to their dock and checks that everything on the boat is in order. Satisfied, he takes the boat out to deep water and starts fishing, the rolling waves lulling him instantly. 

Several hours later he’s caught a little sixteen pound halibut, and though he’s tempted to fish for a larger one, just for fun, his shoulder tells him that it’s time to call it quits. Will cleans the fish on deck, tossing the innards into the ocean, then sticks the fish into a cooler while he heads home. 

Hannibal is reading in his fireside chair when Will gets in. He smiles at Will over the top of his book before standing to embrace him. 

“Did you catch anything?” Hannibal asks, voice muffled by Will’s shoulder. 

Will leans back to hold up the cooler. “Just a chicken, but sixteen pounds is sixteen pounds. Want me to start cutting anything?”

Hannibal doesn’t fully let go, but instead leads Will to the kitchen with an arm wrapped around his waist, leaning slightly even with the cane. Eventually, they’re forced to part in order to get dinner going, and since the dish Hannibal wants to prepare centers around a complex sauce there isn’t much for Will to do. He opts to lean at the kitchen counter and watch, the two of them speaking only occasionally. 

The food is delicious, and as they eat and drink (“A good New Zealand sauvignon blanc,” Hannibal says, swirling the wine with care, and Will wonders what the people who stocked the island were thinking when they delivered cases of wine to the middle of nowhere), Will feels as though he’s approaching something close to happiness. Though staying with Hannibal on the island was no chore, he at last has begun to relax in his own skin, and after hiding from himself his whole life it comes as a massive relief.

“You know, you haven’t really taught me how to cook,” Will says, gazing at Hannibal. “Besides the basics, I mean.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to learn. After all, you’ve known my cooking mostly in the context of cannibalism, and I thought you might want to avoid that,” Hannibal replies, fingers running smoothly up and down the base of his wine glass. 

Will starts in surprise. “I honestly haven’t thought about that.”

They both raise their glasses to drink at the same time, and for a moment the house is silent.

“I guess… I don’t care. By the time I figured out you were eating your victims I’d already become so entranced by your kills, your art, that it just didn’t matter.”

“And what about now?” Hannibal asks. Will looks at him, nonplussed. “Is it only in the context of art that you can allow for cannibalism, or would you be happy to eat someone at any time? Your own victim, perhaps?”

“Well,” Will says, slowly, locking eyes with Hannibal, “food always tastes better when you catch it yourself.”

And he spears a piece of halibut on his fork, bites, chews, and swallows.

=

Later, once dinner has been cleaned away, they sit at the fire and read and drink the rest of the bottle of wine. Will has read this book twice before, so a few chapters in he starts to zone out. Though by no means tipsy, he feels pleasantly warm, and he gazes into the fire, book slipping to his lap. Will remains this way for several minutes, thinking of nothing and simply enjoying the crackling flames. When Hannibal sniffs Will turns his head, looking fondly on his companion. 

Hannibal soon notices Will’s attention, and he puts his book down, looking questioningly at Will. Will smiles back for a moment before speaking.

“Do you want to kiss?” he asks, shifting in his chair. Hannibal goes very still, then painstakingly marks his place in the book and sets it down. He turns his chair towards Will’s, precisely, at a ninety degree angle.

“I take it you want this kiss to be different from our previous ones?” Hannibal asks, carefully enunciating. Will can see the effort he’s putting into looking relaxed. Anyone else would simply see tension and back off, but Will’s empathy tells him it’s a good tension- that slight quiver of anticipation and excitement experienced before one gets something one greatly desires. 

Will smiles, a slow and wicked thing that has Hannibal’s nostrils flaring, which, for the man, is the equivalent of squirming in his chair. Will lets Hannibal suffer a moment longer before responding. “Yeah, a bit. I was thinking,” he says, sliding out of his chair and moving to Hannibal’s, “that we could try more. Explore one another.”

“I can only do so much in my current condition,” Hannibal warns. Will simply smiles at him.

“Then you’ll just have to leave the work to me.”

=

When Will wakes up the house is cold, the fire having gone out sometime in the night. He contemplates rolling over and falling back asleep for a moment before deciding that warmth came before sleep, especially with the weather turning again. Hannibal shifts in his sleep, curling around Will and burying his face beneath Will’s shoulder. As Will pulls away, he stirs. 

“Stay,” Hannibal murmurs, sleep dulling his words. He snags Will’s waist with an arm. Will can see the tenderness on Hannibal’s face, even though his eyes remain firmly shut. In the long months of his recovery Hannibal had taken to sleeping in, an admitted novelty for him. 

“You’re halfway to laziness,” Will says, poking at Hannibal’s arm. He doesn’t smile, but Hannibal can hear one wrapped in his words. “If we want the house to even begin to approach a livable temperature I need to get a fire started while last night’s embers are still on.”

Hannibal grunts, shifting closer. “For someone so used to Baltimore’s winters you’re remarkably susceptible to the cold.”

“You forget that I’m a Southern boy. Besides, that was a proper snow. Here it’s that creeping damp that sinks its teeth into you and doesn’t let go for hours. Now,” Will replies, smile now on his face, “let me up before my toes need amputation.”

As he rolls out of bed and out of Hannibal’s grasp he hears vague muttering about “real winters”. Shaking his head, Will bites back a laugh and pads out to the main living area. Though the cabin is sturdy and well built, the fire is its main source of heat, and Baltimore winters or not he disliked letting it get any colder than necessary. Will stokes the fire’s remains, adding logs here and there as the flames built up. He crouches in front of the fireplace for several minutes, warming himself, before standing to walk to the kitchen. Hannibal is right behind him and Will startles.

“Jesus, Hannibal. Warn me,” Will says, rubbing at his chest. Hannibal quirks that Mona Lisa smile of his at Will. “I think I preferred you with the cane. At least then I could hear you coming.”

“I quite prefer leaving that disadvantage behind. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”

Breakfast ends up being French toast made with almond milk and chia seeds in lieu of eggs and butter. As Hannibal dips the bread into his amended batter Will looks on in doubt. “We need to get some chickens,” he says, watching from the island as Hannibal begins to cook the bread. “I don’t have much experience with almond milk, but sometimes recipes are famous because they’re the ones that work.”

Hannibal looks over his shoulder towards Will. 

“I don’t think we need to stay here much longer,” he replies, flipping a piece of bread over. “I’m certainly not at full strength, and won’t be for some time, but I think we’ve done as much research as we can here. So, no chickens necessary. I think we’ll get our creature comforts back soon.”

Will looks up to catch Hannibal’s gaze. They had fallen into a routine on the island, and even though he knew it was temporary it’s still surprising to hear that it’s nearly time to go. “Did you have a date in mind…?”

More bread flipping. “In truth, we could have left several weeks ago, and perhaps even before that. I thought it best to wait before telling you until I was certain that I could travel easily.”

Will hums thoughtfully, leaning his chin on his hand. “We could definitely use better wifi. And depending on where we go we might be able to get to helpful government records.”

Hannibal returns his attention to the French toast. Despite his previous misgivings, Will’s stomach rumbles as the latest round of flipping wafts the toast’s aroma throughout the kitchen. When the toast is presented with a garnish of fresh raspberries, picked outside their doorstep, Will falls on it immediately. 

“This is much better than I thought it would be, though I suppose I should know better than to doubt your culinary skills,” Will says, leaning back in his chair and wiping off his hands. Hannibal looks smug. 

After cleaning up, they bend over Hannibal’s tablet together. As they wait for the browser to load Hannibal returns to the kitchen to make coffee. The home page has been set to the FBI’s information on them, and Will is reassured to see the now-familiar “assumed dead” beneath their names. He pecks at the tablet, idly googling while he waits for Hannibal to return. 

“I assume we’ll take the boat to Juneau? It’s smaller and less noticeable than some of the ports we could go to, plus it’s not too far,” Will says. The tablet slows noticeably when he tries to load the maps app and Will scowls at it.

“Too small, I think. It’ll be easier to spot us from such a small city,” Hannibal replies, balancing their coffees on a tray. He sets it down on the table and hands Will his cup. “Besides, Anchorage’s international airport is decent. They have a flight that could take us to Frankfurt in nine hours.”

Will raises an eyebrow at that. “You have clients in Germany?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but it’s always nice to have a quick way out of the country. Plus, I think I’ll use my German identity this section of our journey.” Hannibal sips delicately at his coffee. “Being a single plane ride away from my supposed mother country will be quite believable.”

“Alright, then. Where do you want to go after that?”

“Bedelia will not have left America, not this time. She’ll likely hole up similar to when she vanished during your incarceration. She has no idea that I know this, but she recently purchased some property in Northern California, though under a different name. We’ll start there,” Hannibal says. He smiles at Will. “And perhaps even continue.”

Will raises his cup to Hannibal. “I hope we’ll have excellent luck.”

=

They stand before a modern house, beautiful in its harsh lines and clean edges. The door is a dark, solid wood, with no panes of glass in it. When it opens, the interior is revealed to be traditional, a startling counterpoint to the exterior. The woman at the door stands in silent shock.

“You are as beautiful as ever, Bedelia,” Hannibal says warmly, smiling. She makes no reply, eyes widening in horror. Despite her fear, it only takes her a few seconds to pull a welcoming mask on, though Will can see through it with ease.

“Please,” she says, and if it is slightly breathy none of them comment on it. “Come in. I’ve… been expecting you.”

Will places a hand at the small of Hannibal’s back as they enter, smiling. The door swings shut.

**Author's Note:**

> My gift for hyperfashionist on tumblr. It was a bit late because my wretched hard drive died TWICE (I'm still salty ok).
> 
> There'll be a smutty extension posted in a bit of the scene where they Really Kiss. I didn't include it here because I wasn't sure of my giftee's feelings about smut. For those of you who've read my previous works, I have to admit that this isn't a "new year new me" thing; I kept the gloom and doom to a minimum because I figured a (belated) Chrismtas gif shouldn't be too miserable. :D
> 
> Happy 2017 everyone!


End file.
